


What the End Will Show

by smugrobotics



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Cannibalism, Grief, M/M, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:25:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smugrobotics/pseuds/smugrobotics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life for John after Bane's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the End Will Show

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whisky (whiskyrunner)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyrunner/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stiffen the Sinews (Summon Up the Blood)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/622935) by [Whisky (whiskyrunner)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyrunner/pseuds/Whisky). 



> So, this is based off of [this ask](http://whiskyrunner.tumblr.com/post/52813116971/you-probably-get-this-a-lot-but-what-happens-in-the) where Whisky talks about her head canon for after StS. Hope you like it, Whisky!

Bane has been dead for five years now.

 

***

 

It'd been a shock, to say the least, coming home to his small apartment and finding Ra's al Ghul waiting for him. There’d been no doubt, no momentary struggle to place him – in the three years since John had last seen him, Ra’s had barely changed. Bane had told John, once, that some members of the League whispered that Ra’s was immortal. As ridiculous as that was, John hadn’t laughed. It was all too easy to see how a legend like that could be believed.

 

“Hello John,” Ra’s said when John had come to a halt in the doorway. “Please, have a seat.” The soft, genial tone did nothing to stop the bile from crawling up the back of John’s throat. Ra’s al Ghul did not make idle visits, especially not to people like John. Whatever had brought him here, it wasn't going to be good.

 

The first thing that'd popped into John's circling mind as he sat down had been, strangely, relief. His judgment was finally here. Ra’s was going to finish the job he’d started in the pit. A millisecond later, any relief, any inevitability was wiped out by a loud, resounding _fuck that._ John had his gun still strapped to his hip. If he was going to go down, he was going down fighting.

 

Reason, always the slowest member of John’s pack, followed a beat or two later. Ra’s wasn’t here to kill him. If the older man had wanted him dead, he’d have just sent one of his assassins. The contemptuous indifference Ra’s felt for him didn’t warrant a personal touch.  Which did absolutely nothing to make John feel better.

 

“Why are you here?” John asked when the silence between them had stretched on long enough to feel artificial.

 

“Unfortunately, I come with bad news,” Ra’s said, and even though John knew it was coming, his gut still wrenched. ‘ _Talia or Bane’_ skipped and stuttered through his mind on a loop. _Talia or Bane, Talia or Bane, Talia or Bane, Talia or B-_

 

“Your friend Bane has died in service to the League.”

 

John’s mouth was dry. It’d been dry all day. He’d forgotten his water bottle before heading out for his beat and hadn’t had any time during to stop and buy one. He licked his lips, mouth working to create some moisture.

 

“We have brought his murderer to justice, if that is any consolation,” Ra’s continued. John nodded, wishing he’d leave so he could get a glass of water. His mouth was so fucking dry. “These belong to you.”  Ra’s leaned forward and slid a medium sized wooden box John hadn’t noticed until now across the coffee table toward him. John opened it with stiff, robotic movements.

 

Inside, the black leather straps curling up toward the top like spider’s legs, was Bane’s mask. John reached inside, expecting to feel the curved, slightly ridged tubes of the face plate against his fingers, but instead felt the jagged edges of ripped metal. His body acted without his mind really giving permission, pulling the mask out and looking it over.

 

It’d always seemed so terrifying on Bane’s face, objectively speaking. John himself had never been afraid, but he’d understood the kind of psychological weapon the mask could be. Now, though, it was limp and lifeless. Harmless. Completely destroyed.

 

“It was damaged during battle,” Ra’s said needlessly. The punctured, pitted metal was evidence enough.

 

 _Shrapnel, maybe._ John thought, trying to fit the pieces into some sort of story, the way he’d been training to for the detective exam. _Some sort of explosion._

 

The mask wasn’t the only thing in the box, though, John noticed after a minute.

 

“Fuck,” The doll was instantly recognizable, though he hadn’t seen it in years – hadn’t even known it still existed. He’d thought it’d been left behind in the Pit, rotting along with the all the other reminders of his time down there. He fingered the pocket at the back, empty now. “Doesn’t Talia-,”

 

“Talia has no use for relics,” Ra’s said, cutting him off before he could finish. John bristled, feeling the anger creep up in him, prickling his back and leaving the nape of his neck hot. He’d seen it, of course, how Talia was becoming more and more like Ra’s every year, but this....It was so fucking wrong it made John sick.

 

 _Don’t you remember?_ John wanted to shout. _Don’t you remember what this meant? What he did for you?_ But Talia wasn’t here, and, as the League saying went - only fools and dead men raised their voices to Ra’s al Ghul.

 

“Well, I am sure you would like some time for yourself.” Ra’s stood, the tip of his cane clicking as it hit the floor. “My condolences.”

 

The moment Ra’s had left, John got up and went into the kitchen. He drank five glasses of water, one right after the other, then threw up in the sink.

 

***

 

John knew he had a reputation around the precinct, and not one he particularly liked, either. His yearly reviews called him ‘cold’, ‘distant’, and ‘understandably reserved’ - basically all the words that talked around his status as the resident rape victim.

 

Everyone was just so fucking _nice_ about it. John wasn’t trying to be ungrateful, really. He appreciated people not making a deal over him using the toilet stall to change and keeping the touching to a minimum. And he wished he could repay that kindness with a show of friendship, but there was too big a disconnect between him and the other guys.

 

Rodriguez threw away a half eaten sandwich once, and John thought _I’ve smelled cooking human meat and you haven’t._ He’d gone to the store on his way home and bought half a cart full of canned food.

 

So, even though going into work after Ra’s visit felt wrong, John did. He didn’t need anyone to have more of a reason to shoot him those half curious, half pitying looks.

 

***

 

John wondered if this technically made him a widow. The thought wasn’t as funny as it should have been.

 

***

 

“Jesus,” the man - John didn’t know his name - laughed. He was at the dresser, Bane’s mask in his hand, turning it over and over. “You into S&M or something? ‘Cause I don’t do that shit.”

 

John crossed the room in three steps and gently took it away. He took a moment to put it back in its rightful place before putting a hand in What’s-his-name’s shirt and pulling him toward the door.

 

“Get the fuck out.”

 

“What? Are you serious?” The guy sputtered, but John didn’t repeat himself. A shove toward the door made his point for him.

 

“Well, fuck you, then! Someone else can suck your tiny cock. I don’t fuck crazy.” What’s-his-name sneered, grabbed his coat, and was gone. John locked the door behind him and sat with his back against it.

 

He was so fucking stupid.

 

***

 

John wrote Talia letter after letter for a year. At first he thought that maybe Bane’s death had bothered her more than Ra’s had let on. But, after the tenth letter went unanswered, John got the message.

 

***

 

Bane has been dead for five years now.

 

Except, apparently not.


End file.
